The Lady in Black

Once upon a time there was a girl named, Serene, whose voice was so lovely that the people of her town called her the “Nightingale of Newcastle ”. On hot summer nights they would gather on the town square lawn  and Serene’s voice would fill the air with a array of notes that was as sweet as any confection known to man. Her Granny took to calling her a little sunflower and said she spread sunshine wherever she went. Folks said it was a gift from God.  Serene called it a blessing, as from the time she was aware that she could produce such an enchanting repertoire of musical melodies, she knew that this was what she was born to do.

 And though no one could have imagined it possible, as time went on,  her voice grew even more beautiful as did Serene. But with this newfound beauty Serene grew restless. Something was missing from her life. Her odd dreams told her so. And though all who heard her sing were in agreement as to the magnitude of her gift, their applause left her wanting.

One day she decided to leave her hometown for a bigger city. She hoped that sharing her gift in a larger place would make her feel whole once again. However, over time as she gained more fame, the emptiness inside only grew. And no accomplishment, not even her gig at the Grand Theatre in the heart of the City could assuage the loneliness she carried within. Then one night, as she walked on stage to perform, she heard a voice inside her head.

“He’s here!”….the voice inside her whispered.

“Who?” She asked aloud. But no answer came.

Her eyes peered into the endless sea of faces in front of her but she was blinded by the lights on stage. Yet her heart sang. And her joy bubbled up and spilled over into the notes of the song that followed. And though she had no explanation for it, for the first time in a very long while she wasn’t lonely. And when her performance was done, they showered her with roses, and applause and suddenly her heart swelled with gratitude for the instrument of  her voice.

Afterward she sat in her dressing room, buoyed by the song in her heart that refused to be stilled. Her feet wanted to dance, to whirl around the room in dizzying unison with the music that played in her soul but a knock at the door broke her reverie. Instead of being annoyed, however, she cried out in anticipation. “Come in!”


He entered the room with flowers. But not just any flowers.

“I thought you might like these.” He said with a certainty that made her smile as he handed her the bouquet. His fingers were long and graceful and though she didn’t understand why, she knew that he used them to create beautiful things.

“Indeed…” she replied, motioning him to sit down beside her. She cradled the flowers in her arm, as one would hold a baby. She imagined a painting of herself in shades of gold and yellow doing just this.

“Sunflowers.” She sighed, then glanced at the photograph on her dressing table. His eyes followed her gaze. The picture was yellow with age-- taken by a Brownie camera and worn at the edges.  A little girl stood surrounded by the dazzling golden bonnets of sunflowers. They filled the photograph. Her smile , however, overshadowed  the entire field.

“Indeed…” He mimicked her, then smiled .

“Granny took that photo.” She simply stated.

“You must have been her little sunflower.”  He then laughed. And her heart quickened.

Her eyes came to rest on his...Green pools of light that pulled her into an eddy of contentment. And suddenly she knew….Knew that he was the reason for her song.

“I’m Thomas---”

“I’m Serene---” 

They spoke in unison.

“I’m an artist.” he continued….

“I know.”  She answered with the same assuredness that he had shown earlier.

“Let’s go to dinner.” It was more a declaration than an invitation and as such, she should have been insulted. But she knew, just as she had known that he was an artist, that things were as they should be.

“Italian?” She stood then readied herself to go . He nodded.

“Spaghetti?” He recommended. She nodded as well.

“And champagne!” She insisted.

“My favorite.”  He smiled  “Espresso?  Afterward?”

“Of course!” She emphatically stated.  “How else would we end such an evening?

“End?” He stood, reached for her hand then placed her arm in his. "I suspect, my dear, that for you and I, there will only be a series of intermissions."    

And no conclusion was ever truer because from that time on they were inseparable.  He bought her Caruso records for her victrola and sunflowers from the florist on the corner. She bought him paints from Paris. They went to dance halls and danced till closing. And on wintry nights when there was nothing to be done they simply talked….Hours spent in conversation and never a lack of topic. And so, within six months they decided to marry.    

On nights when Serene was spent, after a long performance, Thomas would draw her a bath and then put her to bed. And on others when he was uninspired he would go to the theatre and sit in his favorite seat where she would be sure to see him. He would close his eyes and simply listen to her make love to him with her voice. And then he would come home and paint, her songs in his heart, her music in the hand that moved across the canvas.

It was not always easy between them. She snored at times and kept him awake. He drank too much on others. And both had strong opinions. But they were as imperfectly perfect as two people could ever be.

 Five years passed. Five years of more happiness than either of them had ever imagined possible. And then one Autumn afternoon on a day when Serene did not have to perform she burst through the door of their apartment, her heart aflutter with excitement.

“What is it  my darling?” Thomas thought she had never looked lovelier even if she was dressed completely in black.

She placed her purse on the bedside table then reached for the pin in her hat. She wanted to be calm when she told him her news. The light from the window cast a beam of gold upon her and her auburn hair was suddenly ablaze in brandished fire. Thomas audibly sighed.

“Wait!” he cried then stilled her hand. “Don’t move!”  Serene watched as he ran to gather his easel and then his paints.

He made her stand in the light, her hair bathed in the beams while he brought her to life on canvas. Serene  who was accustomed to his bursts of inspiration  was quite content to oblige him. He painted furiously his hand  racing against the coming of night…His lady, all in black save for a burst of auburn flame and the honey hue of her skin.  But halfway through he glanced up and found her studying him. And when his eyes met hers, she rendered him a smile... A secret smile… designed only for a lover’s eyes…A smile that promised so much more. And suddenly he forgot his good intentions.

He led her to their bed, and beckoned her to sit down. Then he knelt to remove her boots. Carefully with the gentleness of a handmaiden before a queen he helped her remove her garments one by one.And when they were face to face at last, Serene felt such a rush of love for Thomas it filled every space of her being. In that moment there were no words to be uttered and her news was  soon forgotten. For love was in a language that had been written long before either of them had ever been born. And he loved her until all rational thought ceased to be.


Darkness enveloped them when she awoke save for a sliver of light from a marquis across the street that glanced over Thomas. She ached to wake him and tell him of her news but he slumbered so peacefully she let him be. Instead she slipped away quietly and ran down to the Italian Restaurant across the street to see if the owners would make her up two plates of spaghetti, antipasto,  and whatever else she could think of….And pastries for dessert. For there was much to celebrate--A secret that had been kept for several weeks now until she was certain that it could be revealed.

A few minutes later , she scurried toward the restaurant’s front door, her arm heavy with her purchase and her thoughts  a menagerie of daydreams. As she exited, the brisk October night seemed to slap at her taking her breath away. The insults kept coming, a cacophony of rat ta tat tat, that should have alerted her to danger. But her senses had turned inward as she contemplated how happy Thomas would be at her news.

The black sedan sped by  spraying the storefront with a maelstrom of bullets. Glass and wood exploded all around her. But she was distracted by the wet spot on her waistcoat now gliding across her abdomen. She reached down to touch the warm fluid that seeped out from some mysterious origin and her hand came away red. Somewhere behind her she heard people scream her name and then the sound of her package hitting the ground. And then there was only silence.

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